The Healer
by LoonyLib
Summary: Dean's life is intricately bound to another's and time is running out.


The Impala tore through the moonlit road kicking up a trail of dust. Sam didn't remember the last time he drove this fast. Or the last time he was behind the wheels of his brother's little Baby. Dean lay in the backseat, almost motionless, hardly breathing, bruised, battered and bleeding. He had been ambushed by a bunch of demons -Lucifer's demons. A particularly nasty bunch. They had been tracking the Winchesters: A dive bar near the highway like so many others they often found themselves in. The kind where they might question a suspect or maybe get a beer, a game of pool and if they were lucky, a waitress who'd give them a night of love and shelter. Dean was there alone that night following a lead on their case. It was a trap. He'd be most definitely dead if Sam hadn't come in the nick of time to rescue him after Crowley tipped him off. They barely escaped by the skin of their teeth.

Sam clenched the wheel harder. That bullet was for him. That knife was for him. Dean wasn't a part of Lucifer's plan, he was. But now his brother was dying in the backseat of a car, with no hospital in sight, no Cas answering their prayers. Dean was going to die again, because of him. And this time, there was no coming back.

His phone buzzed as he manoeuvred the car past a sharp curve, the wheels screeching in protest. In the backseat, the colour was slowly leaving Dean's face. He shivered occasionally. 666. Crowley. He had to take it.

"What?" he barked.

"Now, now, Moose. Is this the way to talk to a man who is going to save your beloved brother? Yet again?"

"Why would you want to help us Crowley?" he asked gruffly. Crowley was their last hope, but they had been tricked before. Several times.

"Let's say I have my reasons. Keeping you two neanderthals alive is essential for me in my battle with dear old Lucy", Crowley crooned.

"So get down here and heal him damn it!" Sam shouted.

"Demons can't heal Moose. That's not our job", Crowley said clicking his tongue.

"Then do something!", Sam yelled. "Transport us to a hospital or something!"

"I'm afraid I can't do that right now. Technical difficulties", he said with a touch of glee.

"Then we have nothing to say to each other", said Sam, slowly losing hope.

"We could cut a deal".

"No. No deals Sammy," said Dean faintly from the backseat .

"No deals", said Sam.

"Alright then. Had to take a shot", said Crowley smiling to himself.

"Can you help us or not?", said Sam, his voice desperate.

"Go down 5 miles and take a left into the woods. You'll find a cabin there and maybe, just maybe, some help". The line went blank.

"Dean. I have no choice. I have to trust him on this", said Sam looking back.

"Yeah, that's always worked out for us", chuckled Dean, spitting out some blood. He cringed in pain. He could feel his life slipping away slowly.

Sam didn't speak. His jaw set firm, he drove to the spot Crowley mentioned like a man possessed.

Sure enough, tucked in the middle of nowhere, was a austere looking log cabin. Moving Dean out of the backseat wasn't easy. A trail of blood followed them into the doorway.

"Just a little more buddy. Just a little more", soothed Sam as he dragged an almost unconscious Dean towards the house.

The door parted slightly as they walked towards it. A sliver of yellow light fell across the porch.

"Can you let us in?", said Sam hoarsely, barely able to hold Dean upright. "My brother's badly hurt".

A young woman opened the door. She had short dark hair, olive skin and kind, expressive eyes. She had a lot of strength for someone so slightly built, thought Sam as she helped Sam carry Dean into the room.

When she spoke, Sam detected a slight foreign accent, but he couldn't tell from where.

"Help me put him down here", she said as she cleared a single cot.

She had set up an IV drip which she deftly hooked Dean up to.

She covered him with several blankets to keep him warm, as he shivered uncontrollably.

"I can't drug him too much because he might slip into a coma. But I need to get the bullet out of him. I need you to hold him down. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Sam did. They had done this before. Taken care of each other's bullet wounds. Stitched each other up. But something so vicious needed a hospital. Needed proper medical attention. Needed a Castiel. A miracle.

"Yes. Are you sure you know what you're doing?" he asked, trying not to lose composure.

"Yes, and don't ask me that again. I need you to trust me completely. Your brother's life is in my hands. Now pin him down", she said, no-nonsense.

Sam pinned down Dean's shoulders as the woman began slicing into his chest.

The pain wasn't alien to Dean. He had been through this before. In Hell. When he was skinned and carved alive every day for 40 years.

His body protested violently, he screamed in anguish. Sam tried to keep him steady. To her credit, the woman worked fast. The bullet was procured quickly from his chest cavity, but a violent gush of blood told them that, they were far from safe.

She stuffed sterile gauze into his chest cavity and asked Sam to keep applying pressure. Dean was no longer conscious.

"Is he alive? Is he okay?", he asked choking back tears.

"He's unconscious. It's a good thing", she said seriously, stitching up his belly wound and attending to other injuries.

"Look Sam, he's lost a lot of blood. He's going to need a transfusion soon. The nearest hospital is at least a 100 miles west. You're going to have to get me some things. We can't move him now".

"I…I can't leave him…" Sam hesitated.

"Well, then he's going to die", she said flatly.

"I don't even know you!" Sam yelled, conflicted.

"Look, I understand. But there really is no time. My life is in your hands as much as Dean's", she said, her face showing first signs of worry.

"What?" Sam asked incredulously.

"I'm working off a deal with Crowley. I made a deal, okay? And now my time is up. The only way I get an out is if I'm able to save Dean. So let's just say, I'm going to take care of your brother like my life literally depends on it". She seemed genuinely ashamed as she said this.

Sam took one long hard look at her and Dean's dying body and set out to get medical supplies and blood. He had no choice. She had no choice. Crowley would ensure that, nothing came easy.

Anya looked at Dean's still body and felt a cold dread of panic. You have to live, you have to live, you have to live, she chanted softly to him. The daughter of an illegal immigrant, with a penchant for healing, she had very little chance to make it through medical school without some kind of financial help. All she wanted to do was help people, but she couldn't do a thing about it unless some miracle came her way. And it did. Crowley tricked her into signing a deal. She made it to medical school and excelled. She trained to be a surgeon. She joined the army as a doctor to take care of the wounded troops. She was the epitome of grace under pressure. She had saved countless lives. And she stuck to the rule book. She steadfastly ignored her roots, her true gifts. She was the daughter of a Shaman. She was born with the powers to heal. But she had seen what it had done to her father. To her mother. Her father, while healing a troubled soul got trapped in some other realm. The soul didn't survive, and her father became a vegetable. Her mother eventually left him and brought Anya along with her to New Orleans, where she lived out the rest of her days. She never let Anya travel back to her father. As far as she was concerned, he was dead. But Anya was certain he could be brought back. And as she signed the deal with Crowley, she asked for her father's release from this realm as well. He accepted, but that could only happen once her 10 years were up.

She had it all planned. She'd give her life up to save her father's. But then, Crowley threw in a new twist. Save Dean Winchester and you live, your father lives, you are no longer bound by the deal. Fail, you die and your father remains trapped forever in another realm.

She looked at Dean's handsome face. He was a soldier, she could tell. Like the young men and women out there. He was fighting for a cause. At that moment she felt hopelessly close to the man who lay suffering before her. Whose life was now inextricably connected to hers. She checked his weakening pulse. His body was getting colder by the minute. Sam would never make it on time. Dean Winchester was going to die.

"You are what you are. And you are like me". She heard her father's soft, gentle voice enveloping her. She remembered the touch of his hands, calloused and firm, the most reassuring hands ever to hold hers. She remembered healing with him for the first time. Travelling to another realm, talking to the departed souls. Souls who would help them heal others. She remebered the joy of healing her first patient when she was seven. A young woman, weak from childbirth, ready to die. And she saved her. She was so proud to be just like her father. Till it all stopped one day. Till the souls stopped speaking to her. Refused to save her father. How she begged, pleaded, prayed. Nothing worked. Nothing.

She was holding Dean's hands in hers. His hands were rough and calloused like her father's. She didn't realise she was chanting. She was trying to talk to them again. She was pleading with them to save this young man's life. Would they listen?

It had been over 2 hours since Sam had left to get the supplies. The pouring rain didn't make it easier. His faith was wavering. He couldn't lose Dean now. Not after all that they had been through. Not like this. Not because of him.

Dean was sitting in a white space. He could see nothing but a dazzling white light around him. He felt no pain.

"Am I dead?", he screamed into the white abbys.

"Why don't you tell me you sons of bitches, am I dead at last?".

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to a sight he wasn't quite ready for.

"Dad?", he cried out incredulously.

John Winchester smiled proudly at his son. "I'm so proud of you Dean", he said.

Dean felt tears stinging his eyes. That heavy burden on his chest was beginning to lift. He broke down as his father embraced him warmly. He felt like a little boy again. And he had been a little boy for a very short time.

"Am I dead Dad?" he asked, still holding on to his father.

"No. No you aren't. And I'm going to make sure you aren't. Let's go for a little walk".

As they walked through nothingness, Dean could suddenly feel his body again. He stopped to catch his breath.

"I've gotten old Dad", he said chuckling.

John Winchester smiled at his first born and waited patiently.

"It's not going to be easy Dean", he said softly. "But you know that already don't you? Nothing is".

"Nothing is", mused Dean.

They kept walking for what seemed like days. John's presence gave him strength. He was getting to know his Dad again. Kinder now, but with the same sense of purpose and valour.

Dean was suddenly gripped by a stabbing sensation. His lungs were on fire. He collapsed to his knees.

"Not much further now son", John said – his expression steadfast, unfaltering.

"Can't… breathe", gasped Dean.

"Don't stop now Dean. Just a little more", John said, helping him up.

Dean could see lights now. They flashed back and forth. He couldn't understand their source. Far away, there stood a young woman. Her eyes closed. Her body still. The woman who took him in. As he struggled to get closer to her, he noticed his father had disappeared. He fell to his knees again. "Dad? Dad?" he cried helplessly, his voice breaking. It was like losing him all over again.

The woman approached him. Her hands were on his shoulders. She took his face in her hands and tilted it towards herself. She looked deep into his eyes. His body shook with pain and confusion.

"You'll be okay Dean, trust me", she said soothingly.

She embraced him gently and he felt his body collapse against hers. His pain slowly started to fade. He could breathe normally again. Her fingers ran through his hair soothingly, her arms supported his broken body. He felt a comfort like he hadn't felt in years. He was lulled in to a deep, deep sleep. When he woke up, he saw Sam's concerned face looking intently at him.

"Whoa man. That's just plain creepy", he deadpanned.

Sam, relieved and in tears, gripped Dean's hand tightly in his. The last two days were touch and go.

"I'm okay Sammy, I'm okay", he consoled Sam.

He felt sore, but already much better. He was still hooked onto IV drips, and he figured he might just need them still.

"Sammy. I saw Dad", he said, trying to recall the memory.

"You did?", asked Sam, intrigued.

"Yeah. And that chick. The one who took us in", he said scratching his head.

"Anya. Her name's Anya. She's a doctor. A surgeon. She saved your life".

"She's not a doctor Sammy. I mean…she's not _just_ a doctor", he said confidently.

Anya stood at the entryway, and saw the two brothers deep in conversation. She stepped back to give them a moment. Dean looked almost normal now. She hadn't failed. She saved herself and her father. That is, if Crowley still kept his word. All she knew was that, 48 hours ago she was supposed to be dead, but she wasn't. And neither was Dean Winchester.

Sam was working a case two towns away. A haunting. Sheriff Jody Mills was helping. Dean was recuperating in the cabin. Anya had wanted to leave, her job done. She wanted to meet her father. But Crowley wouldn't let her. Lucifer's demons had caught wind of the fact that, she had saved the Winchesters and were baying for her blood. The cabin had been charmed by Rowena. They'd be safe here for a little while longer. And then he'd reunite father and daughter. She had a bad feeling about it. She couldn't trust Crowley. And she was tired of playing nurse.

"So what's your deal?", asked Dean trying in vain to scratch his back.

Anya was too distracted to have a proper conversation.

"Hey. Hey! Do you mind just…", Dean called out shifting uncomfortably.

"Do I mind what?", Anya snapped.

"Scratching my back a little. Jeez, talk about cabin fever!"

Anya grudgingly obliged.

"A little bit to the left, right, no higher. Okay, there! There! Ahh, yes!", Dean let of a satisfied sigh as Anya walked away forlorn.

"Hey listen, we're stuck here together, so we might as well talk. I never thanked you properly for saving my life", Dean said trying to read her.

"I was just doing my job", said Anya staring out of the window.

"What are you?" asked Dean, a slight edge in his voice.

Anya looked him in the eye. "I'm the person who saved you. What more do you want to know Dean Winchester?"

"You were there. In that whiteness. Where I saw my…my Dad", Dean said, trying to not get drawn into those intense feelings again.

"I don't know what you're talking about. You were delerious", she said looking away.

She walked away busying herself with dinner preparations.

They ate in silence.

Dean observed her. He couldn't help but admire how beautiful she was. Sullen, but beautiful. And he remembered that distinct feeling of being in her arms. Of being lulled into that blissful, peaceful state. Of the fading of pain. He felt incredibly drawn to her.

He couldn't sleep at night. Tossing and turning was also a bit of a problem, given that, his ribs were still smarting from his injuries. He needed a drink. He hobbled to the kitchen only to find Anya sitting there in the half light, sipping on bourbon.

He pulled up a chair next to her and placed a glass before her. She poured him a drink and they drank in silence. She looked like she had been crying.

"I can help you", he said.

"I don't need your help", she said staring at her tumbler.

"Try me", he said.

She looked at him squarely. She had a stare that could be both uncomfortable and arousing. She looked away. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"You know I can pull some favours from up there", he said pointing heavenwards.

"So why didn't you?", she said sharply.

Castiel's face flashed before his eyes. Where are you Cas? Where _were_ you when I needed you? It was his time to stare at his tumbler.

"I'm sorry", she said. "This has nothing to do with you. I just want to get back to my life. I need to meet someone urgently".

"A boyfriend?" Dean asked cheekily.

She glared back.

"Husband? _Girlfriend?"_ he persisted.

"No", is all she offered.

Dean shrugged, downing his drink and proceeded to get up to leave. His knees buckled as he tried to get up, still not a hundred percent from all the injuries. Anya instinctively grabbed him before he fell.

"Ain't I a damsel in distress?" grinned Dean as she helped him up. He winced a little.

"You should get some rest", she said and walked away to her room.

The night that Crowley showed up, Dean had a nightmare. He woke up covered in cold sweat and heard voices in the kitchen. A smell of sulphur and evil permeated through the room.

"But you promised!" Anya pleaded.

"Sorry darling. It's too late. There is no soul left to retrieve. That soul wouldn't be of much use to anyone. Even me," offered Crowley unapologetcally.

"What's going on? What do you want Crowley?" asked Dean gruffly.

"Ah Squirrel. I was just telling your saviour here that I couldn't retrieve her Shaman father's soul. It's a shredded mess. But she is free to go now", he sounded almost happy. Anya was inconsolable.

Dean processed what he heard quietly. It all made sense suddenly.

"What about Lucifer's demons? Aren't they after her?" he asked.

"Bigger fish to fry" yawned Crowley.

He looked Anya up and down. "Look my dear, you've done well. And I have kept up my end of the deal to the best of my abilities. I'm a demon of my word afterall. Ask Dean here that. And _additionally_ , I've kept you safe. _Both_ of you safe. For nothing in return. So now, you're on your own. Go ahead, live your shitty little lives and _never, ever, call me again_ ", he sneered inching up towards Anya and glaring at the summoning paraphernelia spread out over the table. And just like that he was gone.

Anya stood by the table, her hand bleeding from where she had cut it for the summoning spell, a devastated look on her face. Dean moved forward gently to bandage her cut. She sat down uncertainly, shaking. "It was all for nothing", she said looking up at him, broken and helpless. It was his turn to hold her, comfort her. And he did, as she buried her face in his chest, letting her guard down for the first time. Dean stroked her back gently as she sobbed pitifully. He wished he could do something to help her. And then he remembered Billie.

Billie the reaper looked at the young Shaman before her, skeptical, bemused. She looked at Dean, who silently egged her on to talk to Anya.

"I can help you", she said finally. "But you father is gone. You must accept that girl".

Anya looked up at her, her eyes sad, but her jaw firm. "How can you help", she asked softly.

"I'll ensure he is reaped and not wondering around aimlessly for eternity. I will take him to Heaven. That I can do for you", she said evenly.

"Thank you", Anya said. "What do you want from me?"

Billie stared at her for a while. "Nothing. Just doing my job. Like you did", she said and got up to leave. She inched up towards Dean and softly said, "I wonder if your luck will ever run out Dean Winchester" and dissipated into thin air.

Dean sighed and smiled.

He turned his gaze towards Anya and knew it was time to say goodbye.

"You okay?" he asked gently.

"I will be", she said bravely. "You?"

"Getting there", he said, feeling his bruised ribs.

He looked at her with a sense of immense gratitude and admiration. He felt attracted towards her, but feared getting too close to her. People he got close to, well, they ended up in graves mostly. He looked away, willing his heart to stop beating so fast. He wanted her so much at that moment.

Sam would be getting there soon to pick them up. They would go back to their regular lives. Or whatever that was. They would probably never meet again.

He looked towards her again longingly, as she slowly walked up right before him, gazing into his eyes with that deep, disconcerting stare of hers. He could almost feel her reading his thoughts. He started to say something, when she entwined her hands behind his neck and pulled him in for a deep, long kiss. He felt that sense of peace and bliss which he had felt earlier in his dreamlike state. He kissed her back tenderly at first and then hungrily as they headed into the bedroom, stripping each other of their clothes and inhibitions.

 _Adios. Always the adios._

They dropped Anya off at the hospital where she worked.

"Will you be okay?", Dean asked.

"I will", she said quietly, her eyes on his. He felt his heart break as he kissed her one last time before he left.

"Thank you Anya", he said as he got behind the wheels of his car. "I have a feeling we'll meet again soon".

As he drove off into the sunset, Anya knew deep inside that, this would be their last goodbye. She touched her lips and blew a kiss into the air. May you always be blessed. May you always be brave my beautiful soldier.

That night, Dean dreamed of the whiteness, and his soul felt healed by peace and love.


End file.
